


I remember, I remember.

by Qem



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, One of My Favorites, POV Third Person Limited, Supernatural Elements, herbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qem/pseuds/Qem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My mother's mother, didn't understand the game very well, but she had odd moments of occasional insight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I remember, I remember.

My grandmere when described; sounds like the sort of old lady everyone would be afraid of. The type of old woman who is completely unable to escape, whispered tales of witches, shadowing behind her. She wears all black, doesn’t socialise with her neighbours, is hard of hearing and can’t speak good Japanese. She enjoys feeding the birds, so the tall trees by the house next door are always full of crows, who stare at the people passing with their beady eyes. It’s quite eerie in the area, as you can sense their desire for meat.

But no one is afraid of her; they just see her as eccentric if they think of her at all. And the big birds are well fed, so the little birds can often be seen playing in the gardens, filled with beautiful flowers. She goes to the shops with her daughter, who is well socialised and properly polite, who provides such elegant translations, in comparison to her usual demure talk.

But perhaps they should have been afraid?

* * *

My mother weary of being seen as a half, but ever dutiful in her translations, encouraged me in any traditional Japanese activity I showed interest in, and was delighted and proud of my decision and ability to take on Professional Go as a profession.

My grandmere did while she was alive, sometimes come to my games, if my mother would accompany her. It was reassuring knowing that she was there amongst the audience, with her thermos of ginseng and liquorish tea, quite calming before the match and her quiet understanding to be shared after the game was something to look forward to.

Although she did not understand the games themselves very well, she seemed to enjoy listening to my descriptions of the games as battles. It became a great game between us as she had a knack of reading intent and motivations of the players, or at least being able to expand upon things half mentioned. It was enjoyable and worth continuing even when no longer armed with my mother’s linguistic skills and instead resorting to a dictionary passing it between us.

Still, despite my knowledge of her mysterious insight, I always found it eerie, many years later, my mother’s translated word words on the last known Sai game, with the former meijin, “Sounds like a man who’s ready to move on”, as we never saw Sai play again.

I also found it eerie, when shortly after the first match she attended after Shindou Hikaru returned to playing the game after missing several on a mysterious unannounced hiatus, she insisted on giving me a tonic made of sage and ginseng. My grandmere also told me to carry some gobo in my pockets if coming up against him in later games from now on.

She was upset and insistent. She swore that something had ripped half his aura away, and that it was still raw and bleeding. That anything that could cause that much psychic damage was to be avoided. Or so my mother translated, looking ever so pained as she said as such. (But still, there seemed to be additional garlic the meals my mother cooked after my games for quite some period after that.)

My grandmere had previously, not taken any particular notice of Shindou, that I’m aware of. I had found Shindou’s careless attitude irritating so I hadn’t yet commented on his missed games, and she attended my games so rarely that I found it hard to think of a reason as to how she could come to the conclusion that something was amiss.

It’s been twenty years since and my grandmother is long gone now, but I grow sage on my balcony to remember her, and carry a tiny piece of gobo root in my pocket when convenient, disposing of it carefully. The day before a match I drink her tea, the day after I discuss with my study group and occasionally throw the odd imaginative description in. 

And when May 5th comes around and Shindou’s eyes look distant once again, I remember. I remember.

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't know who this is.


End file.
